


Thunder in Our Hearts

by gauras



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Uliro Week 2017, almost-panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauras/pseuds/gauras
Summary: Collection of fills for Uliro Week 2017May 28: endurance/weaknessMay 29:dreams/memoriesMay 30:misunderstandings/honestyMay 31: danger/shelterJune 1: sick/healingJune 2:daylight/starlight





	1. Chapter 1

Laser fire burns around him, hot blasts of energy that singe and scorch. Shiro ducks around a corner, presses his back against the wall, catches his breath for just a moment. A drone steps into the hallway, and Shiro drops low, kicking to sweep its legs out from under it. It gets a glowing fist to the chest, metal screeching and wires sparking. 

The mission had been going well, so of course it all had to go to shit. They were infiltrating a Galran warship, searching for any clues as to what the Empire’s next move might be. There had been whispers of a prince throughout the various planets they had visited; another unknown, another curveball thrown by the universe. Shiro hated it.

So they were gathering intel, which in all honesty should have been an easy job. Pidge had been in charge of finding the data, while Shiro, Hunk, and Ulaz had been keeping watch, with Keith and Lance on standby in their Lions. Until an alarm had sounded and drones had started swarming them, pouring out of the metaphorical woodwork. They had been split up in the resulting confusion. Shiro thinks he saw Pidge duck into an air vent, while he and the others fought their way through the halls, but he lost track of Hunk and Ulaz a couple of hallways ago.

“Hunk, give me your position,” Shiro calls through the comms.

“Uh,” Hunk says, breathing labored, “I’m in a hall?” There’s the sound of laser fire from down the hall, and Shiro hears it echoed in the comms. “There's - ah! - a lot of really angry robots around me!” 

“I think you’re nearby. Stay put.” That gets him a humorless laugh. 

“I’m a little pinned down, so if you could hurry, that’d be great.” 

“Roger.” Shiro takes off down the corridor, rounds a corner and is faced with several more drones. He ducks under a fist, barely manages to avoid a blast from a rifle, slices through chest and arm and neck. He doesn’t stop to admire his handiwork, instead continuing on at breakneck speed.

“Pidge?” he asks as he runs.

“I’m good,” is the clipped response, and Shiro nods, even though no one can see.

Shiro runs through the hall, takes a left, another left, a right and suddenly he’s confronted with another swarm of drones. They fill the hall, and Shiro barely manages to get a glimpse of yellow from between their shoulders. Shiro leaps into action - he stabs an unsuspecting drone in the back and dodges its comrade’s rifle blast. It takes out the drone that had been reaching for Shiro, and Shiro wrenches the rifle out of the drone’s hands and slams it back into its face. There’s a burst of laser fire from ahead, and half the drones fall. Shiro fires off a few shots from the rifle, punches several more holes into drones, and then it’s just him and Hunk.

Who doesn’t look too good.

Hunk’s slipped from leaning heavily against the wall to being slumped over on the ground, and Shiro rushes over, kneeling by Hunk’s side. There are scorch marks on Hunk’s armor and a hole burned into his left thigh plate. The smell of burned flesh fills the air. Hunk gives Shiro a weak smile.

“Hi,” Hunk says, clearly aiming for lighthearted, but is betrayed by the tremble in his voice.

“Hey,” Shiro says, “How’s your leg?”

“It’s been better.” Hunk shifts and winces.

“Can you walk?” Hunk nods, then shrugs.

“Yes. No. Maybe?” 

“There’s one way to find out.” Shiro offers him a hand. Hunk has to stop part way up, pale faced and breathing heavy, but they get him upright.

“Look, I’m great!” Hunk says, but his leg betrays him and buckles when he tries to take a step. Shiro grabs Hunk’s arm, hauls him back up and supports him with a shoulder. Shiro huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, you’re super.” There’s the sound of metal footsteps on metal floor, and Shiro drags Hunk into a little alcove as several drones charge passed. “We need to get out of here,” Shiro whispers and Hunk nods emphatically. “Keith? Lance?”

 “I’ve got Pidge,” Keith says, “but I’ve also got the attention of most of the fleet.”

“Get Pidge back to her Lion and focus on staying in one piece.”

“On it,” Keith says.

“Lance? Hunk and I could use an extraction.”

“Okay, but we’ll need a rendezvous point. I think Blue and I can punch a hole through one of the hangars,” Lance says hesitantly. “It’ll cause a stir, but it’s the best I can do.”

“That’s fine. Keith, once you get Pidge back to the castle, keep the fleet distracted. Pidge, can you point us towards the closest hangar?”

“Yeah, gimme a-” Pidge squawks. “Keith can you _try_ to keep this thing steady?” There’s a noncommittal grunt from Keith, then the sound of a smack, and Keith lets out a yelp.

“You _twerp_ -”

“Hey, hey, focus! We need to get Hunk out of here.” There’s a beat of silence, and then everyone’s talking at once.

“Wait, wait, wait, what happened to Hunk?”

“Is he okay?”

“Why didn’t you say _something_?”

“I’m fine guys,” Hunk volunteers, “I just, uh, got shot in the leg?” 

“What?!” 

“No, no, really I’m fine! It’s cauterized and everything!”

“ _What?!_ ” three voices screech back. Shiro winces.

“Hunk’ll be fine, guys, but we need that extraction. Pidge?”

“Okay, okay, there’s a hangar about - oh, oof - half a click away from your current position. Can you make it that far?”

Shiro bites back a curse. “There’s nothing closer?”

“No.”

Shiro looks at Hunk, tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. _You good?_ Hunk visibly steels himself, jaw set and shoulders square. He nods.

“Alright. Pidge, send me and Lance the coordinates for the hangar. Lance, meet us there.”

“What about Ulaz?” Keith asks quietly. Shiro’s breath catches.

“We’ll find him on our way out.” Hunk shoots Shiro a look, and Shiro shakes his head. There’s no time to think about what might happen if they don’t find Ulaz. Getting Hunk out of here takes precedence. Shiro gives Hunk a tug and they set off down the hall at an unsteady pace.

They have to hide in the shadows of side halls and doorways to avoid several more squadrons of drones, and Shiro’s the tiniest bit grateful for the Empire’s dedication to its aesthetic. There are plenty of hallway supports and dark corners to duck into, and Shiro briefly recalls his haphazard escape all those months ago. Shiro wonders where Ulaz is; if he’s safe, if he’s hurt, and for a moment he can envision Ulaz bleeding out on the floor, his own blade turned against him. _He’s fine_ , Shiro tells himself. Ulaz is resourceful, he knows his way around a Galran warship, he’s _okay_.

The current squadron they’re hiding from has just about clanged its way passed them, and Shiro grips Hunk more firmly, preparing to move. Before they can take a step, though, another squadron rounds the corner going the opposite way. Shiro and Hunk are in plain sight, and the lead drone pulls its rifle. Shiro jerks Hunk around the corner and rests him against the wall as the drones open fire.

“You gonna be able to give me cover fire?” Hunk’s pale and sweaty and his eyes don’t seem completely focused, but he nods anyways. Shiro claps him on the shoulder. “Atta boy.” Hunk grins and summons his bayard, listing a bit to the side, but he seems solid enough. Shiro takes a moment to collect himself, waits for a break in the laser fire, then steps fluidly around the corner. He breaks into a run, Galra hand lighting up vicious purple. Shiro hears Hunk follow suit, and then he’s firing on the drones, cutting them down in swathes.

Shiro runs for the wall, uses it to boost himself up and slam his feet into the back of a drone. It topples into another, and Shiro uses the drone to springboard behind another. He cuts it down at the knees, kicks the rifle away and twists out of reach of another drone. That one is sliced at the waist, and Shiro whirls to face his next opponent and-

“Enough!” A gruff voice rings out and all sounds of battle sputter to a stop. Shiro turns slowly, stance still low and defensive. At the end of the hall is a Galra commander, decked out in spiked, ostentatious armor. Beside her is-

Oh.

Oh _no_.

Beside her is Ulaz, mask torn off, arms shackled behind his back, his own blade held at his ribs by the commander. A drone stands behind him and to his left, rifle aimed at his head. He’s bleeding sluggishly from a cut high on his cheek, and his ears are tipped back in the way that Shiro’s come to learn means he’s mad. Extremely mad.

“Hello, Paladin,” the commander sneers, derision carrying clear in the ringing silence. Shiro stares impassively at her, not letting his eyes flick over to Ulaz, not letting his worry show. His hand still glows purple, a warning and a threat. “It seems we are at an impasse,” she says, “I have something of yours, you have something of mine.”

“We have nothing that belongs to you,” Shiro calls, voice cold. She snorts.

“The data the small one stole? That is the Empire’s, and therefore mine. I want it back.”

“What, we give you the data, you give us our teammate? Sounds unlikely.” Shiro’s mind is scrambling - he couldn’t give the commander the data if he wanted to; Pidge has it, safe in her Lion. The commander scowls, and the blade is pressed more firmly to Ulaz’s ribs. His ears twitch, and Shiro’s Galra hand tightens into a fist. The commander’s eyes flicker to his hand.

“Stand down, Paladin,” she growls, “or I will gut the traitor.” Shiro chews on the inside of his cheek. He forces himself out of his crouch, hand dimming.

“Shiro!” Hunk calls in alarm.

“Hunk.” Shiro doesn’t take his eyes off of the commander. “It’s fine.”

The commander smiles, teeth sharp. It’s meant to intimidate.

Shiro refuses to let it do so.

“Now, the data.”

“Of course,” he says easily. He’s bitten through his cheek, and his mouth tastes like blood. Ulaz’s nose flares. Shiro takes a step forward, and several rifles are immediately trained on him. He raises his hands slowly and quirks an eyebrow. “I have to give you the data somehow.”

The commander squints at him. Shiro hopes she can’t tell that he’s lying out of his ass. Finally, she nods.

“You,” she barks to one of the drones, “bring him to me.” A drone marches up to Shiro and grips him by the collar. Shiro has to resist the urge to jerk out of its grip. It escorts him up to the commander, and Shiro lets his eyes slide to Ulaz. He’s watching Shiro intently, head cocked barely to the side. They stop a few feet away from the commander. “Well?” she asks.

Shiro brings his right arm up in front of him, makes a big production out of pulling up his wrist computer. He flips through several settings, doing nothing other than buying time. The commander leans forward impatiently, and Shiro’s eyes flicker to Ulaz again.

Then he kicks the commander in the shin, hard as he can.

Ulaz’s blade clatters to the ground as she clutches her leg in reflex.

“You little-” the translator fizzles out as she raises a hand. Shiro tries to duck out of the way, but the drone still has a hold of his armor, and she backhands him. He feels something crack in his jaw and sees stars. Ulaz lets out a low growl and then he’s sidestepping the drone that has its rifle pointed at him and throwing himself at the commander.

Shiro can hear Ulaz snapping at her as he twists out of the grip of the drone, fist severing arm from torso. Shiro whirls to see the other robot aiming at Ulaz, and he lashes out. It fires off a shot and Ulaz grunts, and then Shiro’s there, smashing its head then plunging his hand into its chest. 

Hunk has opened fire on the rest of the drones, giving Shiro and Ulaz cover. Ulaz is still biting at the commander, but she’s overcome her shock and is shoving at him, managing to flip them over. She claws at his eyes and Ulaz snaps at her fingers. Shiro grabs the drone’s rifle and fires. Her head jerks up and she stares at Shiro, wide-eyed.

He fires again.

Then Ulaz slams his head up, forehead connecting with chin, and she falls to the ground, still. Shiro drops the rifle, hands shaking. Ulaz struggles to push her off of himself and get to his feet, and Shiro darts forward, helping him stand. Shiro cuts through the shackles around Ulaz’s wrists, concentrating on keeping his hand still.

“She is merely unconscious,” Ulaz murmurs, and Shiro nods, shoulders slumping. With his hands free, Ulaz rests a careful hand on Shiro’s bicep. Shiro nods again.

“We should move,” Shiro says, voice hoarse. Ulaz’s eyes flicker over Shiro’s shoulder.

“Your paladin,” he says, and Shiro spins around. Hunk’s back on the ground, eyes closed and breathing shallow. They run back to Hunk’s side, and both kneel next to him. He’s cool and clammy, and Shiro bites his lip.

“He’s going into shock,” Shiro says, “We need to get to the hangar. Can you carry him?” Ulaz nods, and he carefully scoops Hunk into his arms, standing easily. Shiro pulls up the directions Pidge sent him. They’re close. “Follow me.”

They jog down the halls, Ulaz doing his best to not jostle Hunk. Thankfully, they don’t run into any more squadrons.

“Lance,” Shiro calls as they approach the hangar, “we’re almost there. You gonna be ready for us?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he says, voice tight. “Hey, you shoulda seen Keith and Pidge - Keith was like, taking all these fighters on a wild goose chase, right? Trying to buy us time? Well, he was doing all these loops and stuff, right by the castle, showing off like he’s hot shit, and then Pidge flew out from behind the castle and just _decimated_ a whole chunk of them! They never saw it coming!” Shiro smiles at the rant, peeking through the hangar doors.

“There’re only a few sentries,” Shiro whispers to Ulaz, while Lance continues to wax poetic about Keith and Pidge’s surprise attack. “You ready to go in?” Ulaz nods seriously. “Here we go.”

They duck into the hangar unnoticed and squat behind a stack of crates. Shiro glances around and catches sight of a panel that would open the airlock. He inclines his head towards it, eyebrows raised meaningfully. Ulaz follows his gaze and his eyes widen. He shakes his head, and Shiro flashes him a grin. He gives Ulaz a _stay_ motion, then leaps out of cover before Ulaz can stop him.

Staying low, Shiro makes his way across the hangar to the panel, stopping to hide behind ships and crates when sentries get too close. The panel’s almost in reach when he’s spotted, and he dives the last few feet to get to it. He slaps his right palm on the panel, flicking through lines of Galran code to find the big red button that typically means _open airlock_ . A laser blast comes uncomfortably close to him when he manages to find it, and Shiro pauses for a moment to jam his Galra hand into the wall. He presses the button and the hangar door opens with a _whoosh_ , and Shiro’s lifted off of his feet.

Ships and crates and sentries go flying out of the airlock, and Shiro cranes his neck to see Ulaz grimly holding onto Hunk, arm looped around some piping to hold them in place.

Then, suddenly, the vacuum of space no longer has a hold on them, and Shiro drops painfully to the ground. The Blue Lion’s head is crammed in the open airlock doors, mouth open and inviting. Disentangling himself from the wall, Shiro starts to run for the Lion, stopping just outside its jaws to make sure Ulaz is following suit with Hunk. They all make it into the Lion’s mouth and its jaws seal with a hiss, and then there’s the sound of metal screeching on metal and they’re flying away.

* * *

 

Once Hunk is safely sequestered away in a pod and they’ve gone through the post-mission debriefing, Shiro finally lets the mission catch up to him. It hits him like a train, making him shake and his eyes burn with tears, and he locks himself in his room.

He almost lost two of his team.

He couldn’t keep track of them and they almost paid the price for it. They almost died because of his screw up. Hunk was in the pod because of him. Ulaz had been used as a bargaining chip because of him.

He almost killed that commander. Stared her dead in the eye as he shot her.

 _Fuck_.

Shiro grips at his hair and tries to ignore the vice-grip his guilt has on his chest. They’re fine, and that’s all that matters, right? He can’t quite convince himself.

A soft knock at his door startles him out of his spiral, and Shiro rubs frantically at his eyes.

“Shiro?” It’s Ulaz, voice pitched low, “May I come in?”

“Sure,” his voice cracks and he winces. The door opens and Ulaz steps in carefully. Several butterfly bandages hold the cut on his cheek closed and there’s gauze taped to the laser burn on his shoulder. Shiro tries to not look at it and scoots over on his bed, giving Ulaz space to sit. Ulaz leaves a few inches between them and Shiro draws his legs up, hugging his knees to his chest. They sit there in silence for a few moments, before Ulaz speaks.

“What you did today was very dangerous,” he says. Shiro curls in on himself tighter. Of course it was - he almost killed three different people.

“I’m sorry,” is all Shiro can say. Ulaz sighs.

“You could have died,” Ulaz says, and wait, _what?_ “When the commander hit you, I- I feared the worst.” Ulaz turns to face Shiro properly. “Shiro, I heard something _crack_.” He reaches out and runs a careful knuckle along the bruise beginning to form on Shiro’s jaw. “I wish you would not endanger yourself for me.”

“Endanger- Ulaz, _you_ almost died because of _me_ ! She was, was gonna gut you like a fish! You were shot because I couldn’t stop that robot in time!” Shiro hides his face in his hands. “Hunk went into shock because he was covering _me_. He got hurt in the first place because I couldn’t keep track of him.”

Ulaz shifts closer, draws a claw over Shiro’s shoulder before carefully placing his hand there. “Shiro, you lied to the face a Galra commander. You kicked her in the leg like a petulant kit. You were almost shot while trying to open an airlock. All of this to save Hunk and me.” Gently, Ulaz pries Shiro’s hands away from his face. His face is open and sincere, and Shiro has to look away. Ulaz squeezes Shiro’s hands lightly, the pads of his thumbs drawing soothing circles on Shiro’s palms. “We are grown. We can look after ourselves. We do not need you to constantly be by our sides, though I would not be opposed to it.” Shiro can feel a blush rise to his cheeks and Ulaz laughs.

“You were amazing today,” Ulaz whispers, “You fought for those you care about, you kept a level head while under stress, you _kicked a high ranking commander in the leg_.” Shiro laughs, the sound only slightly strangled.

“You really liked that part, huh?”

“Yes,” Ulaz says, leaning in close, “I liked it a lot.” He runs his nose along Shiro’s cheekbone, following it up to his temple. Shiro sighs into it, leaning against Ulaz. Ulaz wraps his arms around Shiro as he continues to snuffle along Shiro’s hairline. Shiro shuts his eyes, letting Ulaz’s soft words and touches ground him.

“You’re weird,” he murmurs, and he can feel Ulaz laugh against the crown of his head.

“But you enjoy it.”

“But I enjoy it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back at it! thank u to everyone that's read, commented, and given me those good ol' kudos!!
> 
> today's fill is 99% silly and self-indulgent, and i think this is my favorite one i've written thus far! hope u enjoy

Shiro can tell it’s going to be a bad night. 

Training was long and hard and left everyone in a sour mood, left Shiro sore and aching. Phantom pains had been shooting down his right arm all evening, and no amount of clenching and unclenching his fist had seemed to do anything. Irritated and in pain, he’d skipped dinner to avoid snapping at someone that didn’t deserve his ire. He’d gone to bed early, in the hopes that he could sleep off the pain and frustration.

He’s already spent hours upon hours staring at the dark ceiling in his room that feels too small, too silent, too  _ solitary _ , and he’s just getting more keyed up the longer he stays here. Before, he had thought that  _ maybe _ he could push through his insomnia and physically force himself to sleep, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards tonight. It hasn’t been in the cards for the past several days.

Finally, Shiro allows himself to admit that he won’t be getting any sleep here. He grabs his pillow, leaves his prosthetic laying on his desk and drags himself down the hall to Ulaz’s room.

Shiro pauses outside the door, fingers gripping his pillow, teeth worrying at his lip. Ulaz has told him time and time again that he doesn’t mind when Shiro shows up in the middle of the night, but Shiro still feels bad. They get so little alone time, and as far as Shiro can tell, the Galra aren’t as social as humans. He doesn’t want to be clingy, hates to infringe upon Ulaz’s personal time.

Which is ridiculous, given that they’re dating. Courting. Whatever.

So Shiro awkwardly shuffles his pillow underneath what remains of his right arm and knocks on the door before he can second guess himself again. There’s a beat of silence and then-

“Come in.”

The door opens and there’s Ulaz, sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands resting on his knees, palm up. Meditating, then. Damn, now Shiro really does feel bad. Meditating is hard enough when someone isn’t bothering you in the middle of the night. Goddamn. He should’ve stayed in his room, toughed it out, what’s one more sleepless night, anyways?

“Shiro?” Ulaz asks, and Shiro blinks himself out of his thoughts. “Did you need something?”

“I, uh,” Shiro shakes himself, “I can go if I’m interrupting.”

Ulaz shakes his head. “There is no need. You are quite welcome here.” Ulaz looks pointedly at Shiro’s feet, raises his eyebrows and inclines his head. He’s still standing in the hall. Right. Shiro shuffles his way in.

“It okay if I sleep here, tonight?” Shiro asks, fighting against the heat he can feel rising to his cheeks.

“Of course. Would you like me to lie with you?” Ulaz makes to stand and Shiro flaps his hand at him.

“No, no, it’s fine.” He drops his pillow on Ulaz’s bed. “I just,” Shiro pauses, debating. “My room was too quiet.” Ulaz is still sitting on the floor, half turned towards Shiro. He nods, watches as Shiro pulls back the blankets and sheets and crawls into bed.

“Would you like the light off?”

“Nah,” Shiro says as he pulls the blankets up to his chin, then a little higher. He turns onto his side. Ulaz is back to facing the door.

“If you are sure,” Ulaz says, sounding doubtful. Shiro hums in response.

They sit there in silence, Ulaz meditating and Shiro having only slightly more luck in falling asleep. The sound of Ulaz breathing helps, but it’s still not quite enough.

Then a rumbling noise fills the silence, and it takes Shiro several long moments to realize that it’s Ulaz humming, long, monotonous notes. It’s peaceful, content, and it’s enough to send Shiro drifting off.

* * *

 

Until he wakes up a screaming, panicking mess, sheets tangled around his legs and feeling like restraints. Shiro sits bolt upright, cool air pricking against his hot, sweat drenched skin, almost enough to send him spinning back  _ there _ , and Shiro’s eyes dart around the dark room, trying to find something to ground himself. Except there’s glowing gold fastened on him and the walls seem to close in and Shiro scrambles backwards until his back connects with wall and he’s as far from those yellow eyes as possible.

“Shiro,” Ulaz murmurs, turning around on the floor as slow as possible to avoid startling Shiro.

Shiro flinches anyways, and Ulaz immediately stills.

“You are safe,” he says, voice soft, “in the castle. You are in my room, no one will hurt you.” Shiro shudders, covers his face with his hand. “I turned the lights down. They hurt my eyes. Should I turn them on?”

Shiro shakes his head. No, the sudden light would only make him spiral faster. He’s got a grip, but just barely.

“Alright,” Ulaz says simply. “Shall I continue?”

Shiro nods, and Ulaz begins to speak; meaningless, idle chatter. It’s awkward - Ulaz isn’t the most…  _ verbose _ , but he’s trying, and that’s all that matters.

Slowly, bit by bit, Shiro settles back into himself. Breathes deeper, steadier. Still not sturdy, not rock solid, but it’s enough.

Ulaz seems to notice the change. “Do you want to talk about it?” A head shake. “Is it alright if I touch you?” Shiro shrugs. Nods. Then there’s a heavy hand on his knee, the barest hint of claws on his thigh and he jerks away, wide eyed. Not as steady as he had thought, then. Ulaz snatches his hand back, like he might burn Shiro, like Shiro burned him.

“Sorry,” Shiro gasps, heart working its way back to a pounding rhythm. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t-” Shiro jerks to his feet, wobbling dangerously, and Ulaz reaches out on instinct before curling his fingers into his palms when Shiro flinches again. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll just-” Shiro skirts the edge of the room, back pressed to the wall, and he slaps clumsily at the panel to open the door. Ulaz is still sitting on the floor, still cross-legged, eyes wide and hands drawn up to his chest in loose, anxious fists. Any other time it would be funny, to see Ulaz look so childish, but now. Now Shiro steps into the hall and turns and runs.

Ulaz lets him go.

* * *

 

He spends the night the way he did before Ulaz came to stay with them - wandering the halls of the castle, carefully avoiding the residential halls and kitchen, hiding away in the observatory, galaxies and nebulae spinning around him. It’s cold and lonely, and Shiro can’t help but think about Ulaz’s bed, soft and warm and inviting.

It was a bad night, preceded by a long line of bad nights.

So yeah, sure, Shiro’s a little out of it when morning rolls around. He manages to get dressed and presentable and make his way to the dining room in time for breakfast. Maybe he’s a little more quiet than usual, but no one seems to notice. The green food goo isn’t really appetizing (or, less appetizing than usual) and Shiro spends most of breakfast with his cheek resting against his fist while he pushes the goo around his plate. It makes a squelching sound. Pidge shoots Shiro a dirty look after a particularly loud  _ florp _ , and he grimaces sheepishly.

Most everyone is finishing up with their breakfast when the dining room door slides open, and Ulaz steps in. He stops when he sees Shiro, inclines his head in an unspoken question.  _ Should I go?  _ Shiro shakes his head. He’s had time to calm down and settle, and he thinks of his early morning panic with nothing more than embarrassment. Ulaz straightens and walks passed the table to the kitchen, drags a gentle knuckle across the back of Shiro’s neck as he passes. Eyes sliding shut, Shiro lets himself lean into the touch.

Someone clears their throat and Shiro jerks upright. Hunk and Lance are clearly trying to hide their amusement, both failing spectacularly. Keith rolls his eyes at the two of them, while Pidge grins wolfishly.

“You okay there, bud?” Lance asks, far too casual to be really casual.

“I’m fine,” Shiro says as he stands, gathering up his plate and spork. He definitely doesn’t waver on his feet.

“Long night?”

“Yeah,” Shiro calls over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen, “you could say that.” He hears a snort and cough from Pidge, which sounds suspiciously like  _ ducking,  _ a choked sound from Keith. What?

Oh.

They think-

Oh.

_ Yeesh _ . Children, the whole lot of them.

Ahead of him, Ulaz’s ear twitches and Shiro can tell by the tightness in his shoulders that he’s holding in laughter. The jerk.

Whatever. He’ll pay them all back in training later today.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, most of the day is dedicated to reviewing past missions and preparing for future ones, so Shiro’s revenge will have to wait. 

While these meetings aren’t Shiro’s favorite thing in the universe, he always does his best to pay attention or at least  _ look  _ attentive. Usually, he brings a pad of paper with to take notes in, but he always ends up doodling lazy, curling lines that turn into clouds and hills and waves. He wishes he had the presence of mind to grab a pad before this meeting.

Honestly, fuck his body and his inability to get more than four hours of sleep at a time.

When he’s not doing his best buoy imitation and nodding off, Shiro’s mind wanders away to far off fields and flights of fancy, eyes glassy and unfocused. He starts off thinking about the most recent aliens the team encountered, and how they kind of looked like slugs, then he’s thinking about rainy springs as a kid, stomping around in the yard, poking slugs and snails and carefully scooting worms off the sidewalk and into the grass. Then it’s the sad realization that he hasn’t smelled wet soil in years now, hasn’t been in an honest to god thunderstorm in ages, and what he wouldn’t give to feel the gentle warmth of the sun on his face.

Ulaz nudges Shiro’s knee under the table, jolting him back to the present. Allura’s looking at him expectantly, and everyone else is starting to seem concerned.

“Uh,” Shiro says, eloquently, “what? Sorry, I didn’t, um.”

Good save.

“The Princess was just explaining what is expected of Voltron after a battle is won,” Ulaz says smoothly. “While I agree that we must greet the civilians and honor their traditions, how will we know what exactly is expected? Your databases need to be updated, correct?” Allura blinks.

“Of course,” she says, eyes narrowed, “although, they are already quite extensive.”

“I am sure they are,” Ulaz agrees, “but 10,000 years is a long time.” Allura bites her lip, brings a hand up to her chin.

“Pidge,” she says, “the Galra must have some information on other races. How much of this do you think you have access to?” Pidge frowns, considering, and then they’re off, thoroughly sidetracked.

Shiro shoots Ulaz an appreciative smile, bumps his knee right back under the table. Ulaz merely cocks his head in acknowledgement. A sudden burst of affection blooms in Shiro’s chest, warm and soft. He’s sure he’s got a dopey smile on his face, but any embarrassment is burned away by the heat of his adoration.

It’s just that… Ulaz is so  _ good _ . Kind and soft and gentle. Maybe a little distant sometimes, sure, and maybe he’s reckless and a bit of a wild card, but he still cares. Ulaz is the kind of guy Shiro would happily take home to meet his parents, if his family were close enough for that.

Mmm, no, scratch that. Shiro wouldn’t subject Ulaz to his parents. What he  _ would  _ do, if they ever make it back to Earth in one piece, is take Ulaz on a nice date. A proper date. Cheesy and corny and cliche, the whole shebang. 

Obviously, the first order of business would be ice cream. They’d go to a nice little shop, the kind that still sold  _ real _ ice cream. He’d get strawberry, Ulaz would get vanilla, a safe choice for Ulaz to dip his toe into the world of frozen desserts. They’d share. Ulaz would, without fail, get ice cream on his nose and chin, would frown when Shiro laughs at him. Maybe Ulaz would have problems with his forked, sandpaper tongue and the soft ice cream. He’d have to use a spoon.

Wait, could Ulaz even have ice cream? Are Galra lactose intolerant? Ulaz had told Shiro that they’re primarily carnivores, and if they’re essentially space cats,  _ does that mean he can’t have ice cream _ ?

Shiro banishes the thought. They’ll deal with that when the time comes.

After the ice cream they’d walk down the street, Ulaz glaring at lamps and cars and other pedestrians like they’d personally offended him. Shiro would explain the purpose of various shops. Ulaz would grill him about human life.

Needless to say, they’d finish the date stargazing, Shiro pointing out to Ulaz the constellations that first made him fall in love with space. He’d tell him the story of Orion and Cassiopeia and Ursa Major and Minor. They’d lay in the grass, or sit on a table and stare up at the sky in silence, light pollution from the nearby city smudging the horizon. Shiro would shiver, Ulaz would pull him close, and maybe they’d start to get a little… handsy and-

“Shiro.” Shiro jerks upright in his seat, bangs a hand on the table as he yanks it into his lap. Ulaz is still seated next to him, brow quirked and openly amused. He gestures to the rest of the room, which is thankfully empty. “The meeting is over.”

“Oh.”

Brow furrowing, Ulaz leans an elbow on the table, rests his chin on his closed fist. He looks Shiro up and down, considering.

“What were you thinking about?” Ulaz asks. Shiro gives a questioning hum. “During the meeting. You seemed very,” Ulaz pauses, searching for the proper word, “content.”

Blushing, Shiro bites his lip, glances away. Debates between telling the truth and lying.

“You,” he says at last, and Ulaz straightens, eyes going wide.

“Me?” Ulaz’s voice is strangled, and the short fur on his cheeks seems to be standing up. Is he blushing? Huh.

Shiro laughs. “Yeah, you, fuzzball.”  He grabs Ulaz’s hand. “You and the future.”

Ulaz looks awed, like Shiro revealed to him the deepest, darkest secrets of the universe. He traces a claw along Shiro’s cheek. “Tell me,” Ulaz says, nearly desperate, almost begging.

So Shiro does.

(They decide, later, that ice cream would  _ not _ agree with Ulaz, but that they’ll deal with the consequences with the time comes.

It’s worth it, Ulaz thinks, if he can make one harmless dream a reality.

Gods know that he’s already ruined enough of Shiro’s dreams.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sleep deprivation is never fun, kiddos
> 
> this was originally much longer, w ulaz takin a nap w shiro, but. it felt ramble-y and weird so i had to take it by the hand to the chopping block. it hurt my soul, but Alas. it had 2 b done


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things i learned while writing this: 1) ulaz and shiro are incredibly dense and 2) ulaz has No Chill and he must be Dramatic at All Times
> 
> today's fic was inspired by [demenior's post on tumblr](http://demenior.tumblr.com/post/160645667909/i-want-fic-if-shiro-getting-hit-on-and-ulaz)! this is.... perhaps not what they were after, but i gave it my gosh diddly darned best
> 
> hope u guys like it!

Soft whispers of music and steady drum beats fill the ballroom, air thick and heavy with lazy curls of incense. Small lights hidden in delicately wrought lanterns cast faint, warm light over the faces of those in attendance. Finely embroidered drapes adorn the room, creating nooks and crannies perfect for intimate conversation. The music mutes the sound of others talking, the incense drowns out possibly useful scents, the drapes obstruct sight lines. Anything that might give them the upper hand in an ambush has been lost, abandoned in favor of creating a warm and cozy atmosphere.

In short, Ulaz hates this so-called “party.”

Well, he always dislikes the post-liberation celebrations due to the amounts of small talk required, but this one more so than the others.

The battle to liberate this planet had been long and difficult; hostages had been taken, they’d been flanked and cornered, each of the crew had sustained heavy injuries, Voltron had been ripped apart by foul druid magic, Shiro had been shot down-

Ulaz shakes his head, tries to not think about the static that had filled the comms, or red on white and black armor, or Shiro’s slack face as he was stuffed in a cyropod for an inadequate amount of time. Instead, he searches the room for Shiro, suddenly needing to reassure himself that Shiro is alive and mostly well, rather than collapsed over the console of his Lion, blood dripping on the floor.

Ah, there he is. Shoving passed his own pain and exhaustion for the mission at hand: mingling. Rubbing shoulders with the local leaders and setting up alliances. Apologizing for damages. Complimenting and flattering and winning them over with that backwater planet charm of his.

Ulaz is proud of Shiro, he really is, but all he wants is to be safe in the castleship with Shiro. To trace gentle fingers along hastily half-healed bruises and cuts. To stroke careful claws through his hair, entice him to relax and fall boneless against Ulaz’s side. To rest his forehead against Shiro’s, to close his eyes and breathe Shiro in, revel in his closeness and feel the beat of Shiro’s heart mimicked in his own chest.

The sound of Shiro’s laugh snaps Ulaz back to the present, ears pricking and brows furrowed. Shiro is smiling up at the leader of the Vowaa, Birvul. Like the rest of his people, Birvul is tall and willowy, all slender arms and legs and fine bone structure. He dwarfs Shiro easily. Birvul has a hand high on Shiro’s arm, delicate fingers curling around his bicep, leaning into Shiro’s space.

Biting back a growl, Ulaz crosses his arms and forces himself to lean back against the wall. Shiro has the right to talk to whomever he pleases, of course, but Birvul’s hand is… _possessive_. Ulaz rests his head against the wall and watches as Birvul begins to rub his thumb up and down the line of Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro seems to lean into it.

Trying not to bristle at that, Ulaz digs his claws into the seams of his gilded armor. Humans require more physical contact than the Galra, that’s all this is. Shiro’s gone so long without a gentle touch that it’s no wonder that he seems to crave it more than his friends, and while Ulaz has done his best to rectify that, it would appear as though it hasn’t been enough. Shiro isn’t _cheating_ ; Birvul is just being friendly, and Shiro is listening to his body’s needs for once. That’s all.

Birvul asks Shiro something and Shiro smiles back, shakes his head and shrugs. Birvul nods and swipes a forefinger across Shiro’s cheek, then turns and disappears into the gloom. Ulaz pushes away from the wall and makes his way over, telling himself that he’s just checking in on Shiro, that he’s not giving into his base desire to place himself between Shiro and Birvul.

Ulaz purposefully brushes against a drape decorated with fine bells that chime lightly, announcing his approach. Shiro still jumps slightly, but he offers Ulaz a slight smile.

“Hey,” Shiro says, slouching against the wall.

“Greetings.” Ulaz tilts his head in the direction Birvul went. “That seemed… intimate.”

Shiro’s cheeks color slightly, and Ulaz’s eyes narrow. “Birvul’s friendly.” Is all Shiro offers.

Ulaz snorts, but lets it drop. “How are you feeling?” he asks instead.

Shiro sighs, a hand coming up to press against his ribs. They’d been cracked the day before, but are now only bruised. Ulaz still dislikes that Shiro’s in any pain at all. “Crummy. But I’ll make do.”

“You should not have to ‘make do,’” Ulaz says. “It is ridiculous to insist on hosting a celebration mere days after liberation.” Ulaz gestures around them, then to Shiro. “They should focus on infrastructure. Rebuilding. You and your paladins should be healing properly.”

“It’s their tradition,” Shiro says with a shrug. “It’s not our place to tell them how to govern themselves.” He gives Ulaz a pointed look, and Ulaz deflates.

“Of course.” He’s saved from having to say anymore by Birvul reemerging from the smoke, plate in hand, laden down with a variety of baked and fried treats.

“I’m back!” Birvul says, nearly out of breath. “I made sure to get lots of the _bi’lbaas_. Trust me, my paladin, they’re to die for!” Ulaz shifts closer to Shiro, rests a hand on Shiro’s back, and Birvul blinks, as though he didn’t notice Ulaz before. He gives Ulaz a cool nod, which Ulaz returns, just as coolly. Birvul pops one of the fried treats into his mouth, letting out a delighted hum before picking another up and offering it to Shiro. “You said you would like to try?”

Ulaz stares, woodenly, as Shiro takes the fried ball of dough from Birvul’s hand. He rolls it between his fingers before taking a careful bite, eyes widening as he lets out a small, “ _Oh._ ”

Birvul puffs up at Shiro’s wonder, sliding Ulaz a smug look from the corner of his single eye.

Ulaz tries to not let it bother him. Shiro shares food with his paladins all the time, it’s just another one of his alien customs. He probably doesn’t know the significance of it.

Judging from the look Birvul’s giving Ulaz, _he_ knows what he’s doing.

And Ulaz can’t help himself. A low growl rumbles free, a warning to Birvul. _Back off_. Shiro glances up at Ulaz then to Birvul, the beginnings of a frown creasing his brows.

“Something wrong?” Shiro asks, _bi’lbaas_ forgotten in his hand. Ulaz takes a deep breath, glares at Birvul.

“He is _courting_ you,” Ulaz spits. Shiro raises an eyebrow, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Oh.” He glances at Birvul, who merely inclines his head. “And that’s a problem?”

Ulaz turns slowly to look at Shiro. “ _Yes._ ” Why is he being like this?

“Why? What’s it matter to you?” Shiro only sounds curious, not vicious or hurtful. “It’s not like we’re dating, or anything.” Ulaz feels like he’s gotten one of those spinning kicks that Shiro’s so fond of straight to the chest. Breathing is suddenly a struggle.

“I- We- I thought,” Ulaz takes a step back, drags a hand down his face. Gods afar, he’d just _assumed_ . His advances would have been heavy-handed with another Galra, he’d thought he’d been so _clear_ and Shiro had responded so _favorably_ and- “I need to leave.”

“Ulaz,” Shiro starts, but Ulaz is already turning and - what’s the phrase? - hightailing it out of the ballroom, breaking into a run the moment the doors shut behind him, desperate to get back to the castleship to process what’s happened.

Merciless gods, _he’d just assumed_.

* * *

 

Vargas pass, and Ulaz finds a disused corridor filled with musty rooms. He paces up and down the length of it, movement quelling his tumultuous thoughts. Movement brings focus, focus brings clarity.

Ulaz realizes, now, that he’d been foolish to think that courting rituals between the Galra and humans would be similar. Or, rather, he had not thought at all, merely letting his instincts and desires take over.

Foolish, foolish, foolish.

Ulaz had thought he’d been painfully clear when making his interest in Shiro known. The food, the touching, the gifts. The proximity. The way he gravitated towards Shiro, helplessly caught in his orbit. Another being, Galra or not, would have deemed Ulaz clingy and a nuisance. Hopelessly lovestruck, awkwardly giving his all in an attempt to woo.

Pressing his back to the wall, Ulaz covers his face with his hands, slides down until he’s sitting on the floor. All this time, he’d been acting like a naive kit making its way into adolescence, sure he’d been cool and calm and collected, when he’d really been bumbling along. Too blind to see that his own sentiments weren’t returned.

Wounded pride aside, Ulaz wonders how Shiro feels about this. What he thinks of Ulaz after this particular revelation.

It’s another thing Shiro has had pushed on him, apparently without his consent. Another change he never agreed to. The… situation is perhaps not as physically harmful as some of the _other_ things Ulaz had been forced to do during that long year, but it is still unwanted. Uncalled for.

When Ulaz had joined the paladins as an ambassador of goodwill between them and the Blade, he’d sworn to himself that he would do whatever was in his power to repair the damage he had wrought on Shiro. That he would never hurt Shiro again. That he would _heal_ , not wound. Rebuild, not destroy.

Clearly, Ulaz has failed spectacularly. In one of the most despicable ways possible.

He’ll have to be reassigned. For both his and Shiro’s sakes. He’ll return to the Blade, shamefaced and a failure, relocated to another lonely base on the edge of known space. The cold silence of the base will be a stark contrast to the warm cacophony here, but it must be done. He’ll miss-

The sound of footsteps is all the warning Ulaz has before Shiro’s dropping down next to him with a soft groan, cross-legged and open. Ulaz does his best not to flinch or scoot away.

“Found a nice place to sulk?” Shiro asks, studying the far wall.

“I was not,” Ulaz stops, sighs. “Yes.” Shiro hums, the sound strangely melodious in the quiet of the hall.

“So,” Shiro says, slow and easy, “you and me, huh?” Ulaz ducks his head, nails clicking out a nervous, staccato rhythm. He nods.

“Forgive me. I did not,” Ulaz draws a breath,holds, releases. “I did not consider our cultural differences when first deciding to court you. I apologize if my advances were untoward or made you uncomfortable. That was not my intent. I will speak with-”

“What’s Galran courtship like?” Startled, Ulaz glances over at Shiro. He’s still staring studiously at the wall. “I’ve already got the food and the touching, so what else?” When Ulaz only continues to stare, Shiro finally turns to look at him. He makes an airy rolling motion with his hand. “Y’know. There’s gotta be more, right? What comes after?”

Slowly, haltingly, Ulaz shrugs. “Courtship is neither long nor intricate. The exchange of gifts typically solidifies a bond until it is… consummated.”

“Ah.” They lapse into silence for several long, painful ticks. “So what did you,” Shiro trails off, letting the question hang in the air, delicate and fragile.

“The salve, for your scars,” Ulaz says. Shiro stiffens. “However, I felt it too small a gift to encompass the magnitude of my feelings for you. So I continued to give. There was the kalikan lily, the set of tools, the statue from Litlam. When I began, I hardly expected you to return the sentiment. The day you did, I was thrilled.” Shiro frowns, and Ulaz elaborates, “The flowers.”

Interestingly enough, the tips of Shiro’s ears go red. “They were the same color as your fur.”

“They were still a gift,” Ulaz counters, then deflates. “Then you gave me the Acab sphere, the crystal from the Kalben asteroid belt, the mask from the Cils festival. And I misinterpreted your actions, gave them significance when there was none. For that I am sorry.”

“Galran courtship doesn’t sound that different than human dating.” Shiro meets Ulaz’s eyes, expression suddenly hard. “With one difference: we actually talk before assuming that we’re a thing.”

“Of course. I understand.” Ulaz begins to stand, legs unfolding achingly slow. “I will speak to Kolivan about being reassigned.”

“What? Ulaz, _no_.” Shiro’s hand shoots out to latch onto Ulaz’s wrist and he looks panicked. Shiro hauls himself up, and then they’re chest to chest, scant inches between them. Ulaz’s heart gives a painful little twinge.

“I am sorry for upsetting you. My mistake will not affect your standing with the Blade.”

“Will you _stop?_ ” Shiro scrapes a frustrated hand through his hair. “Just- Stop. Stop making decisions for me, stop assuming how I feel. I know better than you, so just- just listen.” Metal fingers tug at a sleeve, nervous. “I like you, Ulaz. I _like you_ .” Ulaz freezes, hardly daring to breathe. “And I’m glad to know you feel the same way and that I wasn’t imagining things, but you’ve gotta talk to me. Not at me or around me or over me. Yeah, I’m mad that you just assumed, because communication is important, but I don’t want you _gone_.” He gestures between them, almost frantic. “I want you to stay, so we can figure this out.”

Ulaz’s heart soars, lodged in his throat and beating wildly. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Shiro snaps, fire and steel in his eyes. Then he blinks, and they’re gone. “Of course.” Shiro looks down, shuffles his feet. Bites his lip, eyes darting up to meet Ulaz’s as he hesitantly reaches for Ulaz’s hand and twines their fingers together in an odd grip. It’s nice. Ulaz brings their hands up and presses the back of Shiro’s hand to his cheek.

“I will do better, in the future,” Ulaz says, solemn and heavy, “to speak with you and respect your feelings.” Shiro gives him a small smile and tugs on their joined hands.

“C’mere,” he whispers, tugging again, drawing Ulaz half a step closer. Shiro wraps his arms around Ulaz’s waist, settling at the small of Ulaz’s back and Ulaz slides a hand up the back of Shiro’s head, cradling his skull. “Stay here. I wanna make this work.”

“As do I,” Ulaz murmurs, burying his nose into Shiro’s hair. “I shall stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if ur curious: those delightfully seductive snacks r like. a mix of beignets and gulab jamun. yum


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my writing style was driving me up the wall, so i tried changing things up for this fic. it's a bit more flowery than usual, but other than that, it's p much the same
> 
> this fill features some accidental(?) drug use, so if that's not ur deal, i'm sorry
> 
> enjoy, friendos!!

Shiro steers the pod through the trees, sparkling bark reflecting the light of the sun back into his eyes, doing its damndest to make them crash. He grits his teeth around a curse, and he can hear the squeak of Ulaz tightening his grip on Shiro’s chair. They're close to the factory, so if they could  _ just find somewhere to land _ , that’d be fantastic.

The trees thin out abruptly into a meadow, dominated by a huge, disused factory, clearly Galran by design. It's squat and all sharp angles, silent smokestacks towering over the trees. There’s not a soul in sight, and sturdy Galran architecture is slowly being taken over by the moon’s natural flora. Iridescent vines cling to its side, aerial roots digging into miniscule cracks in the structure, prying out spaces to grow in its weaknesses. They shimmer in the dual light of the sun and nearby gas giant, all pinks and purples and blues. Shiro’s struck by the realization that even nature is fighting back against the Empire’s reign. 

Shiro makes a loop around the compound, then sets the pod down at the edge of the forest as gently as he can. He gives Ulaz’s hand a pat as he stands, and Ulaz releases the chair, five perfect crescents carved into the soft padding. Shiro leans over the pod’s control panel, double checking the atmospheric diagnostics one last time before pulling up a channel with the castle.

“We’ve landed,” Shiro says, through the comms. He’s greeted with static for several long, painful moments.

“-iro, there’s a-” Pidge’s voice wavers in and out of the static, “-ence coming from the moon. You’re-” the line dissolves into static again, before going dead.

“Looks like we’re on our own,” Shiro says, tossing Ulaz a glance. He shrugs. Shiro opens the pod’s door.

Stepping out onto the ramp offered by the pod, Shiro stops and takes a deep breath. The air smells sharp, like pines and moldering undergrowth. Small creatures dance in the air, translucent, like motes of dust.  He hops off the ramp and turns his face up to the golden sky, shutting his eyes and absorbing the warmth of the sun. Shiro can feel Ulaz step up next to him.

“Let’s go take a look,” Shiro says. Ulaz nods, the movement oddly fast and jerky. Hm.

They make their way through the entrance, looming doors torn off by more of those twisting, twining vines. The inside of the factory is dark and musty, the only light coming from small holes in the ceiling high above. Dead and decaying leaves litter the floor, and they skitter along with Shiro and Ulaz’s passing.

The team had found this moon by pure chance; a hastily crafted wormhole had tossed them into the orbit of the moon’s gas giant. Its bright colors had piqued the crew’s curiosity, and a quick scan had revealed that it’s covered in old, abandoned Galran factories. Forever on the lookout for anything that would give them a leg up against the Empire, Shiro and Ulaz had volunteered to go and get a closer look.

They’d expected to find half assembled weapons and ships, schematics and blueprints, something  _ helpful _ .

From the looks of things, they’re out of luck.

There’s nothing lying on the dusty conveyor belts other than crunchy leaves and flowers, and what packaging they do manage to find is empty. It’s hugely disappointing, in all honesty.

“Scavengers must’ve beaten us here,” Shiro calls to Ulaz, who’s across the factory floor, considering a locked door. He gives Shiro an airy wave, then continues to poke at the door’s control panel.

Shiro frowns. Ulaz has been…  _ weird _ , this whole time. On edge. Eyes wide, nearly vibrating with tension, ears twitching at nonexistent sounds. Shiro’s starting to get worried.

Ulaz is now digging his fingers into the seam of the door, scrabbling for a hold. Shiro straightens, hand tightening around a metal box of capsules he found on the floor.

“Something wrong?” Ulaz ignores him, finally managing to wedge his fingers between the doors, hauling at it for all he’s worth. “Hey! Ulaz!” He tosses the box aside carelessly, ignoring the clang it makes as he breaks into a jog.

By the time Shiro’s made it across the factory, Ulaz has pried the door open and disappeared into the room. Shiro skids to a stop outside the door. Ulaz stands in the middle of the room, head tilted back to look at the rows upon rows of cold storage drawers. It’s the first room they’ve found with power.

“Hey,” Shiro says, out of breath, “What’s up?” Ulaz opens a drawer, pulls out a sprig of some plant. The leaves are a luminous shade of blue, delicately feathered.

“It cannot be,” he murmurs, nearly awed. Ulaz holds the plant up to a dim light.

“Ulaz? What is that?” There’s the sound of something clanging, far off in the factory. Probably rubble falling. Ulaz carefully plucks a leaf off the stem.

“This appears to be sytarc,” he says, twirling the leaf between two fingers. “It was outlawed decades ago. I thought all the crops had been incinerated.”

Shiro eyes the leaf warily. It’s oddly mesmerizing - the way the blue reflects the cool purple lights of the store room, the way it ripples as it twists in Ulaz’s grip, it seems almost  _ alive _ . He wants to reach out and take it. “Why was it outlawed?”

Ulaz hums. Opens his mouth to answer.

And sticks the leaf in his mouth. He chews on it for a moment, then swallows.

Shiro stares. Ulaz stares right back.

Then his eyes go wide, and he takes a stumbling step back, tension that he’d been carrying high in his shoulders leeching out. His back hits the wall, and he seems to rest there for a moment before sliding bonelessly to the floor, letting out a hoarse cough.

“Ulaz!” Shiro leaps forward, tugs Ulaz upright.

“Forgive me,” he slurs, sounding drunk. “I do not know what came over me.” His eyes are half-lidded, the look almost content. The clanging is louder now, definitely not rubble. It sounds… metallic.

Shiro pats Ulaz’s face when his eyes slide closed. “Hey, hey, stay with me. We’ve gotta get you out of here.” Ulaz blinks slowly. Shiro tugs on Ulaz again, encouraging him to get to his feet. He makes it up, but leans heavily against Shiro, hooks his chin over the top of Shiro’s head.

Ulaz mumbles something indistinct. Shiro wraps an arm around Ulaz’s waist, drags one of Ulaz’s long, heavy arms around his shoulder. The clanging has faded again, and Shiro hauls Ulaz out of the room and towards the entrance.

Shiro catches sight of the drones just before they make it out of the factory, still hidden in its musty gloom. They’re clustered around the pod, rifles drawn and aimed. They look older than the ones Shiro’s used to; rounder, shorter, more sturdy-looking. Less elegant. A different design, perhaps? It doesn’t matter.

“We’re gonna have to run for the trees,” Shiro whispers to Ulaz, who gives a dreamy sigh, “be able to manage that?” No response. Okay, then.

This has all gone downhill  _ very _ quickly.

Shiro edges out into the meadow, keeping an eye on the drones. They seem to be completely focused on the pod. With any luck, their AI is just as dated as their casing.

_ With any luck _ . Ha.

They’ve almost made it to the trees when the drones notice them. Their joints screech when they take aim, and the lasers they fire seem slower, heavier.

_ Just how old are these things _ , Shiro finds himself wondering until one of the lasers hits the ground with a splash and a hiss, grass and wildflowers melting into a puddle.

Oh, yuck,  _ okay _ . Not the standard issue laser rifles, then. Even better.

They duck behind a tree just as another glob of acid comes sailing at them. It hits the tree, bark dissolving into glittering rivulets of gold. It’d be pretty, if it hadn’t been meant for the back of Shiro’s head.

Shiro leads Ulaz through the forest, not daring to stop and rest lest they get beaned with acid. Ulaz slides in and out of lucidity the entire time, offering absurd and unhelpful commentary.

(“You are… so  _ small _ ,” he told Shiro while sloshing through a stream, like he’d had a revelation.

Shiro had considered dumping him in the water.)

Shiro pauses, listening for the snap of a branch or the sound of metal grinding on metal.

There’s nothing.

“I think we’re safe,” he says to Ulaz, who groans. “C’mon, let’s find somewhere to hide.” Shiro hitches Ulaz higher, and Ulaz shuffles his feet in an attempt to help. He must be coming out of  _ whatever  _ that was.

Good. Shiro needs to have a  _ conversation _ with him.

There’s a sharp rise up ahead, and Shiro thinks he can see some shadows that might be a cave. Just a little farther to go.

* * *

 

Sometimes, the universe throws Shiro a bone. The cave is more than he could’ve hoped for - easily defendable, close to a water supply, shielded from the elements. Now all they have to do is sit there and wait for a pickup.

Ulaz sits by the entrance, cradling his head in his hands. He’s no longer drugged out of his mind, but still loopy and sporting a migraine. Shiro hands him a bottle of water, which he takes gratefully. Ulaz grips the lid with his claws, twists and untwists, seeming to get lost in the circular motion. Shiro clears his throat.

“Sytarc, huh?”

“Yes,” Ulaz says, still twisting the lid. Open, closed, open, closed. “You humans have strange ways to carry liquids,” he says, non sequitur. Shiro blinks.

“Water pouches are seen as childish back on Earth. Don’t change the subject.” Ulaz sighs.

“Sytarc was originally a sleeping aid. Then it was discovered to also be a stimulant. It was overused and crossbred with other plants to give it additional properties.” Ulaz closes his eyes, bottle forgotten. He opens them again, refocuses on the bottle. Hums when he manages to get it open.

“So you knew what it’d do to you? And you ate it anyways? What the hell, Ulaz.” Ulaz shakes his head and groans when it presumably sends the world spinning.

“I could not help myself. It called to me.” Shiro snorts. Right.

Well, whatever. They’re safe now, so it doesn’t really matter. For now. 

Later, though? Shiro has every intention to grill him about sytarc and his apparent inability to resist it.

Ulaz seems to be listing to the side, sliding back towards sleep. Shiro plops down beside him, startling him. Ulaz sits straighter, blinking rapidly, the universal sign of  _ I’m awake I’m awake I’m awake _ . That won’t do. 

“Here,” Shiro says. Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, Shiro guides Ulaz so that he’s lying half in Shiro’s lap, head pillowed on a thigh. Shiro cards a hand through Ulaz’s hair, combing the silky soft strands back from his face, then scritches his nails along Ulaz’s scalp. Ulaz shudders, leans into the touch.

Fascinated, Shiro draws a finger over the long line of Ulaz’s ear, then down and behind, following the curve of his skull. Ulaz presses his face into Shiro’s thigh, huffs out a contented breath.

“You know,” Shiro says as he drags his knuckles along the patterns of white on Ulaz’s scalp, “I’m gonna tell everyone that you got high as a kite from eating one tiny leaf.”

Ulaz groans, and Shiro laughs, soft and fond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sytarc is, essentially, hyper-potent space catnip
> 
> have u seen a cat absolutely lose its mind over catnip for approx. .37 seconds and then just kinda flop down and take a good, long nap? that's ulaz here
> 
> i had a big long backstory for this catnip, but. it didn't fit so w/e. if ur curious: the sytarc growing on this planet was cultivated by rebels, made 2 b absolutely irresistible 2 the galra and intended to be used to knock out galran officials for kidnapping/assassinating. we're lucky ulaz only ate the one leaf, otherwise he could've put himself in a coma. dodged a bullet there, bud


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the sappiest, most sensual thing i have ever written. i look at my hands and don't recognize them
> 
> (dissociation and a veeeery brief description of a bad bone break, tread careful)

The thing about the cryopods, miraculous as they are, is that they knit and stitch and heal haphazardly. Built in a time of war, when the Alteans needed to get their troops healed and back on the front lines as quickly as possible, speed and efficiency were prioritized over comfort and finesse. The paladins avoid the pods as much as they can, electing to heal on their own, if they have the time, but sometimes there is no other option.

Ulaz wishes the circumstances were different, as he leans against Shiro’s pod. Wishes that Shiro could take his time to heal and rest, rather than toss himself into a pod and then the next battle. Wishes that Shiro did not  _ need _ the pod, that Ulaz could have been there in time to stop the W’lesh assassin from laying a devastating blow on Shiro, foot connecting with thigh. Wishes that the younger paladins had not seen bone poking through skin, their faces white with worry. Shiro will punish himself for that, Ulaz is sure.

Ulaz sighs, kicks a leg out and bounces his heel against the steps leading up to the pod. With the battle already fading into memory, the rush of adrenaline dissipates with it, leaving Ulaz heavy and weary. He considers shutting his eyes for just a brief moment, allowing himself to doze until the pod relinquishes his lover, but he shakes his head. No, he must be awake when Shiro is released; the pods blur time and space and memory, and it is easy enough to find oneself lost when first stepping out. A comforting, grounding hand can do wonders to dispel that confusion.

So Ulaz sits, clicks his nails on the floor. Smoothes his tongue over his teeth, draws lines in his fur with a single, dulled claw.

It is the middle of the night cycle, and the castleship hums around him. There is little to distract Ulaz - the paladins having been chased to bed by their own exhaustion, the Alteans repairing their ship that always seems to be in the process of falling apart. Ulaz gathers his mind, focusing on the  _ whirr _ of Shiro’s pod and the triple-double beat of his own heart, then sends it spinning, spiraling out of his own body. He calls it back, then releases, in time with his own breath. Honing the mind, for lack of anything better to do.

The pod gives a cheerful  _ ding _ , drawing Ulaz out of his meditation. Hunk once remarked that the pods sound like an oven, whatever that is. He had explained that it was an old Earth invention used to cook, and Ulaz is not sure that he likes the comparison.

When the pod door slides open, Ulaz is waiting for Shiro, arms outstretched to steady him. He shakes, weak and tired and  _ cold _ , and Ulaz draws Shiro into his embrace, readily shares his warmth with him.

“Welcome back,” Ulaz tells him, words echoing and reverberating in the med bay. Shiro says nothing, merely buries his chilled nose into Ulaz’s chest, cool fingers finding their way up the back of Ulaz’s shirt. So it is to be one of  _ those _ nights, then. Alright. “Would you like to go rest?” There are dark smudges under Shiro’s eyes, purplish bruises that the pods cannot help. They draw on their occupant’s quintessence, leaving them drained of energy. Shiro looks like he would benefit from a short rest, even if it is only one or two vargas, but Shiro shakes his head. Ulaz is unsurprised, but he had hoped.

“A bath,” Shiro says, voice hoarse, “please.” That Shiro is vocal is a good sign, though he shakes harder with the admission. Proud of Shiro for speaking when words are so difficult to grasp, Ulaz presses one of Shiro’s human kisses atop his head.

“Of course.”

The going is slow, but Ulaz has infinite patience. When Shiro shoves away from Ulaz in favor of bracing against the wall and retching, Ulaz pets his hair back from his eyes, chases the tears away with the pads of his thumbs when Shiro finishes. When Shiro’s knees give out from under him for the third time, Ulaz sweeps him up into his arms, cradling Shiro close.

“Is this alright?” Ulaz asks and Shiro nods, tucking his face into the junction of Ulaz’s neck and shoulder. They move marginally faster after that, but Ulaz still takes care to not jostle Shiro too much. He has complained before of vertigo and nausea after being in the pods, another unfortunate side effect that Ulaz wishes he could soothe.

They reach the baths not long after, and Ulaz sets Shiro on his feet and guides him to a side room where the private baths are housed. Shiro stands there, numbly, still trembling and eyes glassy as Ulaz draws the water and fiddles with the dials and knobs until he finds a satisfactory temperature. He sits back on his heels and considers Shiro, takes in his blank stare and his white-knuckled grip on the sides of his suit.

“Shiro,” Ulaz lays a hand on the side of Shiro’s face, smoothes a thumb over the curve of a cheek bone. “I am going to undress you. Is that acceptable?” A slow, jerky nod, and some light comes back into Shiro’s eyes. Letting his hand fall from Shiro’s cheek to his shoulder, Ulaz steps around him to unzip the suit in the back. Eventually, Shiro begins to help, tugging mechanically on the sleeves, pushing the suit passed his hips and down to his ankles and stepping out, into the bath.

Seated in the bath, hunched over and exhausted, slowly finding his way back to his body, Shiro looks small and delicate. Fragile. Logically, Ulaz knows he is not, that he is hardy and strong, that he bears so much and that he bends but does not break, but some primal part of Ulaz yearns to draw him close and protect him, to growl and snarl at any that would wish him harm, to fight tooth and nail to save him from the heavy destiny the universe has set on his shoulders.

But it is not Ulaz’s place to make those decisions.

Instead, Ulaz squats next to the bath, lightly touches the back of Shiro’s neck, asks, “May I join you?” and shucks his own clothes when Shiro nods.

Ulaz steps into the bath behind Shiro and pulls him back to rest against his chest, hooks his chin over Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro leans his head back against Ulaz’s collarbone, boneless in his trust. The warmth of the water seems to seep into Shiro, chasing away the chills and aches that come with a stint in the pod, while Ulaz ghosts his hands up and down Shiro’s sides, a gentle petting motion. Shiro lets out a shaky sigh.

Ulaz allows his hands to dip lower, skimming over stomach and thighs, fingers stuttering when they come in contact with Shiro’s new scar. It is puckered and angry-looking, still a fresh red from the pod, and Ulaz cannot help but think that he would have done a better job putting Shiro back together.

It is a frivolous thought, one that Ulaz hurriedly shoves away. He has no desire to operate on Shiro again.

Dragging his thoughts away, Ulaz digs his fingers into the meat of Shiro’s thighs, massaging away any stiffness that may remain. He avoids the sensitive area around the new scar, instead moving his hands up to knead at Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro groans, wiggles back and melts against Ulaz. He opens his eyes and blinks up at Ulaz, more solidly there than he’s been in vargas. Shiro smiles, then frowns.

“You’re all wet.”

“I will dry.” Shiro hums and pulls Ulaz down for a proper kiss; a slow blink and quick touch of their noses.

Ulaz pulls back, a soft smile on his lips. “Lean back,” he instructs, thumb dragging up and down the back of Shiro’s neck. “I must wash your head fur.”

He knows that it is hair, not head fur, but it still makes Shiro laugh, the sound small and surprisingly light, and Ulaz guides Shiro so that his head rests on Ulaz’s shoulder.

As Ulaz brings handfuls of water up to wet Shiro’s hair, as he scratches his nails through the long strands, Shiro relaxes further, soft and pliant, breaths deepening and evening out, exhaustion catching up to him and dragging him under.

Soon, Ulaz will have to wake Shiro, dry him off and take him to bed, but for now, this is enough. For now, he is content with Shiro breathing calmly into his neck, flesh hand high on Ulaz’s hip.

For now, they have all the time in the universe to rest and recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanon that shiro was stuffed into the pods a lot when he was w the galra, more so as he gained popularity in the arena, so he's got some less than favorable associations w them. the altean ones are, of course, more advanced, but they're primarily the same thing. it's always a bit of a toss up how shiro will react to them, and he typically hates when the rest of the team sees him afterwards
> 
> in order 2 get myself in the mood while writing this, i listened 2 the slow songs on the [shadow of the colossus ost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmoYLtObCtY), specifically tracks 1, 3, 9, 11, and 14. they're such soft, melancholy songs, which was what i was aiming for with this fill


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u believe uliro week is almost over??? it's been such a blast, and i hope u guys've had as much fun as me
> 
> may i just say: u guys r all amazing! everyone's come up with such great and exciting and loving things for this week, and the outpouring of love and support is just downright astounding!! i'm so proud of this lil canoe and everyone that's in it, whether they read, write, draw, or anything else!!!

“I do not understand what is so special about this,” Ulaz grouses, picking at blades of grass and holding them close for examination, carefully splitting them up the middle. Shiro smiles, ever indulgent.

“You’ll see.”

Not bothering to dignify that with a response, Ulaz flops onto his back, stares up at that blue, blue sky poking through the branches of the tree, soft-looking clouds chasing after each other. Brown and green and pink and blue all swirl together, complementary and bright.

Earth is so  _ colorful _ , and Ulaz is struck again by the vibrant diversity of life here. A small creature - a  _ robin _ , Shiro had called it - hops in the branches above, delightfully red breast standing out in the shade of the foliage. It flutters down, gives Ulaz a baleful look before digging in the ground, sharply  _ tugtugtug _ ing on something until it flies off with its prize.

Truthfully, Ulaz would much rather inspect Earth’s flora and fauna than wait for the sky to change colors. He has seen the sun set on hundreds of planets, seen dual stars set and triple moons rise, seen glittering auroras band the sky in a thousand different hues. What Shiro believes to be so special about his planet’s sunset mystifies Ulaz, but he is there, next to Shiro, because it matters to him.

Ulaz rolls onto his stomach and pillows his head on an arm as he digs a claw into the soft dirt. One of Shiro’s hands makes its way into Ulaz’s hair. They sit there, the only ones in this so-called park, the soft heat of Earth’s gentle sun heating their legs.

Until Shiro’s hand stills and he nudges Ulaz’s shoulder. “Hey, look at that,” he whispers, awe clear in his voice. Ulaz turns, sits up, is unable to withhold his gasp of delight.

The once white clouds are streaked with fuschia and gold, scarlet bleeding to red bleeding to indigo. The smog so prevalent here catches the light, turning the horizon hazy and pink, mixing with periwinkle sky. It is a chariot of fire, blending, burning, changing, day giving way to night in one last glorious blaze of color.

If  _ this _ is what Shiro has been missing, what he saw every day when he was young, what he has not seen in years? Ulaz cannot blame him for the long wait; his boredom burns away in the presence of this spectacle. 

Shiro’s passion and fiery temperament make sense, here. He is the last stand of the day against the night, refusing to back down without a fight. Birthed and raised in the light of this seemingly unassuming sun, small and oh-so average, it is no wonder that he claimed that brilliant fire as his own.

Ulaz looks to Shiro, sees the tears falling and wetting his cheeks, soft smile on his face. Then takes in the pale pinks, gently lining the clouds. Perhaps he learned his softness from these sunsets, too.

Ulaz bumps his shoulder against Shiro’s. Shiro bumps him right back, eyes still fixed on the sky.

No. Shiro’s softness and burning commitment are his, and his alone.

And Ulaz is so very, very glad to share his first sunset on Earth with him. Hopefully, it is the first of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thus it Concludes...
> 
> i don't have a fic planned for tomorrow, but there will b A Thing from me, so keep ur eyes peeled!!!
> 
> and i just want 2 say one last time: thank you all so much for all of your kind words and support over the past few days. this week has been Really Crappy for me for a variety of reasons, and honestly your comments and kudos were one of the few things that kept me going. i considered giving up on this week many, many times, but y'all helped me push through, so thank you. you all deserve the sun, the moon, the stars, and everything in between

**Author's Note:**

> the anxiety is real w this one, folks.
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](https://beeblossoms.tumblr.com)!


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